23 days passed without me writing a single posting despite my intention of doing it at least once a week. I would sing bedtime songs for my little Seri and tell myself I would do it right after she falls asleep, then i end up reading stuff and the morning sunshine breaking into our window.

What??? When did I fall asleep? This.happens.every.night.

I only have 1 child at the moment, but sometimes it feels like I have 5 at the rate of my productivity. I have an Indonesian Maid to help with all the cleaning and cooking (God, Bless Her), so I mentally slap myself hard, and vowed to put more effort into writing before I shrivel up and die.

And tadaaaa….

I woke up early after breastfeeding little Miss Muffet…. I inched slowly out of bed… It was the perfect break from the clenches of father and daughter duo – the father was back late last night finalizing a promo video for a client, and the daugther will continue to sleep as long as she’s full and there’s someone next to her to snuggle.

Then came the next problem. What do I write about this morning?

My mind seems to have a fresh restart every morning. I can’t remember a single thing I wanted to write about so passionately. I had them a few days ago, but today they’re gone!!! By the time I have a tiny inkling of remembering them, they seem less significant to be written about now.

Darn it, the clock was ticking away – anytime now before they wake up. So much pressure!!!

My mother language is Bahasa Melayu AKA Malay, and English is my second language (please forgive me for my grammatically incorrect writing). I grew up in a surrounding speaking English until I went to school and hell broke loose. Now I speak mainly Malay because my surrounding speaks Malay most of the time. And the only time I get to converse in English are with my English speaking clients and a few friends. My social media updates are most of the time in English. I didn’t want to suddenly forget how to speak and write in English as my brain development succumbs to old age. On my second Instagram account that is set to public, I wrote in Malay. My close friend commented about the sudden change in the use of language.

I have a regret of not learning Mandarin as my Ibu always suggested to. Because of this, I have hopes of enrolling Seri to a Chinese school like Ibu wanted for me. 🙂

So I write in English for practice. And may throw in Malay ever so often when I simply can’t figure out an English word or phrase for it. Or when I just feel like it.

Oh boy, I started this blog thinking I would have ample of time during my confinement to detail out my motherhood experience. I also stocked up on e-books fantasizing leisure reading to my hearts pleasure. Was I dead WRONG.

I didn’t even have time to comb my hair (which admittedly i have always been kinda of a lazy bum), wear lipstick, or shower, or bengkung, ….or a lot of daily things I do which I now realize I take for granted for….. and all I wanted to, needed to, was more sleep.

So to keep up to speed, my daughter was FINALLY born on 5th November 2014!!! I remember the mixture of emotions of holding her and the joy of watching le husband having a welcoming conversation with her through the slits of my drowsy eyes induced by the oh so wonderful morphin. But most of all i remember the exhaustion, and this was from a cesarean operation, it wasn’t even a natural birth as we both had hoped. As much as it was a bummer after all the hypno-birthing mumbo jumbo, there were lessons in this very important occasion.

That we as human can plan as best as to our capabilities, but we are all subjected to the will and decree of The Almighty.

SubhanAllah.

And I should have exercised more like Ibu nagged me to. kan? kan?

Seri Eiman was delivered in Putra Medical Center, Sungai Buloh. Let it go on record that despite the birth plans i provided and the Doctor agreeing to co-operate with our request. It is not a natural birthing friendly hospital. And I can’t say I was thrilled about the facilities and the staffs. However, I take responsibility on the bad decision for not thoroughly checking of this matter. The need to be close to Ibu and my husband through out my labor was the reason I chose it. Ironically none of them were with me during my labor. Husband insisted Ibu to go home as she fell before she got to hospital and was limping, and he went back home to get the phone chargers as men were no allowed in the labor ward, and rooms were fully booked.

Anyway, long story short. After my water broke with lots of blood around 11.00 pm, we rushed to the hospital (after husband paced and pranced around in panic whilst calling his Mak… hehe) and from 12 midnight till 9 am in the morning, my opening was only freaking 1 cm. Despite walking around the bedside and to the bathroom for hot showers… and several times being poked by the matron at you-know-where, the little lady inside me was adamant to stay inside and started to have a slower heartbeat, so it was suggested to have an operation immediately at the risk of losing her totally.

As obstinate as I was to not being cut opened, at that moment of time saving her was the most important thing. My husband kissed my forehead and told me he forgives me for anything i have wronged and i in return shook and kissed his hand and ask for his forgiveness (should have done it first kan!) and prayed for both our safety.

For now I shall leave this memory at this point and continue about the operation in the next posting. Can’t be too ambitious in a single comeback post, the possibility returning after several years for the next post is also high.

At the age of 33 years, on the 3rd year of my marriage and in the 3rd trimester of my first pregnancy… I decided to rant journal my adventures stepping into motherhood so I can read back in future and laugh at myself and hopefully even appreciate how I have evolved as a person.